Hannibal Lecter…

  Foster’s face was an explosion of pain.

  Hannibal Lecter…

  Why do those words seem important?

  Foster rolled over onto his back and tried to see exactly where he was. Instantly, more pain radiated from the corner of his eye socket to the upper part of his mouth. Breathing, once so easy and effortless, now felt like he was attempting to snort acid into his nose. Thirty-one years had only brought him a handful of fights, but none of them had taken such a toll. As searing pain racked his face, it hit him.

  Maybe he had never really been in a fight before today.

  Slightly disorientated, he tried to work out his location without the use of his eyes. His back was too comfortable to be lying on the cold tile floor. Couldn’t be his room, because that mattress was just as stiff. Heaven? Probably not. Suddenly, a deep, southern female voice bellowed out. And at once he knew he was in the infirmary.

  “What the hell do you mean he said, ‘Hannibal Lector’? Like Silence of the Lambs?”

  Hannibal Lector? Suddenly, small shreds of his memory began to string back together. Images that made him wince in pain. Then, there was the tone of her voice. Instantly, Foster knew he was in trouble without even looking.

  Nurse Evelyn Mason was a bit of a throwback. In her late fifties, Evelyn was a proud black woman from the great state of Mississippi. Slightly stocky, but still attractive for someone her age, she was known by every patient at Wilson for two things. One, an unending supply of attitude against anyone acting like an idiot. And two, the inability to never miss an opportunity to make every doctor on staff painfully aware that she knew more about medicine than they ever did.

  That upfront, take no bullshit demeanor made her more enemies than friends during her ten-year reign in the infirmary. Hell, even the even-tempered Dr. Armstrong hated her holier than though attitude. And that fact alone instantly endeared her to Foster.

  “That boy has got to be the smartest dumbass I have ever known. What possessed him to tap on the devil’s shoulder?” A few feet away, near the entrance to the small eight-bed clinic, Mouse stood meekly by Dr. Armstrong, trying his best to answer Nurse Mason’s question.

  “That’s what he said.” Mouse shuffled from one foot to another, trying desperately not to make eye contact with either of them. “Foster said ‘So you’re a real Hannibal Lector.'”

  “That was enough.” Evelyn rested a hand on her hip and spoke before Armstrong could say anything. “I’ve seen the newspaper articles about that monster. All those murdered girls. Foster’s lucky all he got was a broken nose.” She shot a steely glance at Armstrong, who tried his best to act unfazed. “What the heck was Freezer boy doing in the south wing anyway?”

  “Mr. Brighton was making excellent progress. The review board decided…” Armstrong stopped mid-sentence. As the administrator of the Institute and her boss, he was not going to defend his decision to a nurse. “That’s not the point, Nurse Mason. Mouse,” he regained control of the conversation. “Was there anything else that set him off, any trigger that could have precipitated the altercation?”

  Mouse lolled his head to one side in a questioning manner. “Precipitated?”

  Armstrong started to explain the meaning slowly, but Evelyn cut him off, “What did that idiot over there,” she pointed at Foster’s supposedly unconscious body, “do to piss the big scary guy off?”

  Mouse’s eyes darted from Mason to Armstrong then back to Mason trying to decide which one to answer first. Finally, he just split the difference by staring off into the space between them. “He was taking a picture of him with his phone.”

  Finding common ground, both Armstrong and Mason let out a loud sigh of exasperation. “That phone… Mouse,” Armstrong placed a hand on his broad shoulder. “Thank you for being there for Foster today. I think we all might have to watch him a little closer from now on.”

  Always wanting to be helpful, Mouse nodded. Dr. Armstrong motioned for him to leave the infirmary, and he was about to comply when something stopped him. “From now on? Dr. Armstrong, Foster thinks he’s leaving today. That’s why he packed up all his stuff. You can even see the walls.”

  The administrator responded to this with a grave tone. “Foster’s confused, Mouse. He’s not leaving today. He just thinks he is.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “Are you sure?” Apprehension flashed across the big man’s confused face. Over the years, a trust had formed between him and Foster, and he had never known his friend to lie. “He’s pretty much set on leaving, Dr. Armstrong. I… I don’t think he would take staying here very well.” Mouse wrung his sweaty hands together. “What are we going to do?”

  “We,” Armstrong put his clipboard down on the counter. “Are going to be there for him, aren’t we, Mouse?”

  “Of course!” Mouse didn’t hesitate to answer. “I’m his friend.”

  “Thank you, Mouse. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Mouse nodded curtly then exited through the infirmary’s large metal doors.

  Panic fell over Foster’s mind for the first time. During this little morality play, he had been searching for something important. Where in the hell was his phone? It wasn’t in any of his pockets. Throwing off any pretense of being asleep, he began frantically rummaging through the contents of the small chest beside his bed.

  The search was quickly interrupted by Nurse Mason. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

  In Evelyn’s outstretched hand was a scratched-up blackberry smartphone. Foster’s heart both leaped and sunk at the same time. Immediately, he became calmer. “Thank you,” he said, snatching the scuffed-up device in one exaggerated move.

  “You and that phone,” she said in a motherly tone, “need some help.”

  Looking past the reunion, Dr. Armstrong sat down on a small metal chair which visitors often used. “I was afraid of this, Mr. Evers. Everyone on staff has been worried that once you got closer to your date…” He trailed off as Foster played with the broken device. “I think that we might have to reevaluate your status on the ward, at least for a while.”

  Still more concerned with the condition of his phone, Foster only half-acknowledged Armstrong’s veiled threat. After a quick once over, he smiled, then fiddled with something in his ear. “Thank god,” he snapped to himself. “That was too close.”

  “Too close,” Dr. Armstrong smirked. “What do you mean too close?”

  “I mean…” Still not wanting to explain everything just yet, Foster had to think on his feet quickly. “That Brighton guy, he almost killed me.”

  A few feet away, Nurse Mason found time to snort loudly in disbelief while pretending to do paperwork. “Yes,” Armstrong ignored her apparent attempts at commentary. “He did almost kill you, and that’s what scares me. I fear that you’re going to fall into a destructive pattern now that you’ve been proven wrong.”

  “Proven wrong?” Foster gripped the phone tightly. “I wasn’t proven wrong.”

  “The day is almost over, and there has been no invasion.”

  “That you know of,” Foster offered.

  “I think that an invasion of the earth would be front page news. And I haven’t seen anything on the television or the Internet.” Foster giggled at Armstrong’s ignorance.

  “Do they have news on those websites you go to, Dr. Armstrong?” Foster waited for a response, but all he received was a cold stare. “I guess not. Plus, do you honestly think if such a monumental event occurred, the government would hold a press conference about it? Studies across the board show that mass panic is more dangerous to a population than a horde of little green men brandishing flashing ray guns.”

  “Studies… what studies?”

  “Don’t worry about it, Doc,” Foster said. “I didn’t get everything right, though.”

  “What did you get wrong?” Armstrong asked, hoping his patient would admit to being fallible.

  “I would have bet you a million dollars she would have been the one to drive.”

  “What are you talking about?” Armstrong was more confused than ever.

  Foster could see the time for playing games had ended.

  “Look, you’re a nice guy. Sure, your proclivities aren’t necessarily my cup of tea. But hey, it’s a big world. Besides, you’ve always been fair to me and fair to your patients.” Foster reached out and squeezed the director’s shoulder in a comforting manner. “For that, I won’t tell a soul that you finally got around to deleting your browser history.”

  “Listen, I think we need to talk about what this incident means.”

  “No, we don’t.”

  For the first time in six years, Foster reached up and plucked a tiny, well-worn device out of his ear. The earbud had a small circle of light near its base that glowed rhythmically like a lightning bug. He allowed a curious Dr. Armstrong to examine it for a moment before popping it back in.

  “All you need to do is answer your phone when it goes off. And for god’s sake, don’t ask them too many questions. They didn’t want to make the trip up here in the first place.”

  “Who didn’t want to make the trip?”

  “The two FBI agents that are here to get me.”

  Dr. Armstrong furrowed his brow, trying to digest what had just transpired. Foster was slipping faster than he first imagined. He was about to call for an orderly to escort Foster back to his room when his lab coat began to vibrate. Believing it to be merely a coincidence, he retrieved his phone and stared at the incoming messages. There was only one new text: Two Federal officers are waiting for you in your office.

  The director’s brain froze. Why were two federal agents waiting for him in his office? The Justice Department vetted these visits weeks ahead of time. And as far as he knew, no drop-offs were scheduled until the first of next week. Confused, he looked for an explanation in Foster’s smug face. “I don’t understand. How did you know?”

  “That’s not important, Doc.” Foster flashed a wholly satisfied grin. “But I wouldn’t keep them waiting.”

  Out of nowhere, a tiny, unthinkable, impossibility began to orbit his sphere of possible things. “Your phone, your pictures, all those things you drew and plastered to your walls.” Over the years, Armstrong had looked over almost all of Foster’s drawings. So many in fact that a horrible thought crept into his mind. “How did you come up with those monsters?”

  “Don’t worry, Doc.” Foster tried to be reassuring, though nothing he could say right now would ease his mind. “I will solve this. That’s what I do. Now go.”

  And Armstrong did, never once looking back at either Foster or Nurse Mason.

  Satisfied with how that went, Foster swung his feet over the side of the recovery bed and started to look around for his clothes. But a stern voice was ready for him.

  “Foster,” Nurse Evelyn leveled her judging eyes upon him. “Why have you been acting crazy for the last eight years?”